Hummel the Vampire Slayer
by CrookedNeighbor
Summary: AU: Kurt is a vampire slayer. Not only does he have to deal with the undead, annoying jocks, and the constant urge to put a stake through Rachel's chest, now he has drama in the form of a crush on the world's most oblivious Warbler. T for later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

My first Klaine fic! Also my first Glee fic. Also incredibly silly. I like badboy!Kurt, but I'm also totally insane. So, um… Kurt's a vampire slayer. That happened.

I don't own Glee or its characters. If I did, I would be much, much wealthier.

EDIT: I went back and changed some things, mostly because I had no idea what I was doing when I wrote this chapter and it made it kind of hard to write the second one. :)

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><p>Blaine looked up at the strange boy on the stairs and smirked. <em>You could be a little less obvious about the spying,<em> he thought. The boy - around his age, slim and pale and taller - didn't have a Dalton blazer and was looking around with a sort of amused awe.

He didn't beat around the bush much either. When he caught Blaine's gaze he just smirked and asked, "Where I can find the Warblers?" Blaine played along and led him right to one of their impromptu performances. He might hear about it from Wesley later but really, what harm could it do? They were only doing Teenage Dream, and it wasn't even one of their best songs.

He glanced at him out of the corner of his eye during the song, surprised to see him nodding his head a bit. Something about him didn't strike Blaine as a Katy Perry fan. Maybe it was the black attire and the intimidating combat boots.

"So what school are you from?" Blaine asked, after they'd finished the song and dispersed.

"McKinley," the boy replied with a shrug. "Spying wasn't my idea, by the way. But you guys are pretty good."

"Worried about the competition?" Blaine joked. The answering smile was a bit disturbing, almost feral.

"Not a bit. I'm Kurt, by the way. Kurt Hummel."

Blaine chuckled a bit, awkwardly. "I'm Blaine Anderson. Nice to meet you, Kurt."

"You too," Kurt said, nodding. He turned and walked away, sending a text as he went. Blaine was about to walk off too, when Kurt turned around. "Hey, are you busy? I'm going to go get a coffee."

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><p>Blaine always felt awkward wearing his Dalton uniform without the other Warblers around. It was made worse by how casual Kurt seemed - he shrugged off a black blazer to reveal a layered t-shirt and rolled up his sleeves as soon as they sat down.<p>

"So, Dalton seems nice," he commented as they waited for their drinks to cool. "Would have thought an all-boys school would be more Fight Club or Lord of the Flies."

Blaine laughed. "Actually, we have a zero-tolerance policy for bullying. A lot of people come to Dalton to avoid that sort of thing."

Kurt considered it, his expression almost wistful. "Zero tolerance? Sounds nice."

Blaine frowned. "It is. Is McKinley… bad about that sort of thing?"

Kurt laughed grimly. "Pretty bad. It may surprise you to know that at most schools, Glee kids aren't treated like rock stars, Mr. Warbler. The New Directions are basically the punching bag for the whole football team." He smirked. "And if you happen to be the only gay kid in the bunch, well. Let's just say they don't make life easy."

"I know what you mean. That's… that's why I left my old school. I was one of a handful of out guys there and it didn't make me many friends." Blaine nodded sympathetically.

Kurt cocked an eyebrow. "You're gay?" he said, sounding surprised. Blaine laughed. "Wouldn't have guessed. Most people can figure me out, I'm sort of… the type, I guess…"

Kurt trailed off, looking over Blaine's shoulder and out the window. "Shit," he muttered, glaring. He jumped to his feet and started grabbing his things before looking back to Blaine. "Um, sorry I've got to… I've just remembered I have to help my dad out at work, I've got to go."

"Oh, right. No problem," Blaine said, wondering why he was really leaving. He wasn't stupid, he could tell that Kurt had just made something up to leave. He scribbled his number on a receipt and handed it to the other boy. "If you ever want to talk about being bullied or anything, feel free to call me."

Kurt looked down at the number, mild shock on his face. Almost like he hadn't expected anyone to offer him help, which, Blaine thought, might be the case.

"Yeah. Thanks, really," he mumbled, and rushed out the door.

Blaine left a few minutes later, after he finished his coffee. As he went to walk back to Dalton, he thought he saw Kurt in his truck. He was driving the wrong way to go back to Lima, and it almost looked like he was… chasing someone.


	2. Chapter 2

I still don't own Glee or it's characters, just a laptop and some cold medicine.

I don't really know at all where this story is going, and so far both chapters have been written while my reasoning was somewhat impaired. So I may be editing things as I go along, in case I actually come up with, you know, a plot.

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><p>Kurt stomped around the back of the café, reaching for the bag at his side and pulling out a switchblade. With a flick of his wrist the blade was visible, long and silver and engraved with a cross. "You bastard! You absolute bastard! It's bad enough you leeches show up when I'm in school," he ranted, causing the couple leaning against the wall to break apart and look up at him.<p>

The girl, a petite blonde wearing a hideous private school uniform, looked embarrassed and confused. The boy, eighteen years old at a glance, with neat brown hair and a Mickey-Mouse Club smile, looked angry.

Kurt waved a hand at the girl, who looked between the two of them and ran off. Maybe she'd missed them earlier, but now there was no ignoring the gleaming fangs in the perfect smile, or the fearsome read eyes. Not for her, anyway. Kurt had no problem ignoring them, as he continued fuming.

"It's not like I actually need to pay attention at McKinley, not with teachers that practically refer to Wikipedia for their lesson plans," he growled, slamming the knife into the vamp's shoulder as he charged and ducking under his claws, flipping him onto the ground.

The vampire hissed a bit at the knife. Kurt made a mental note to get it back, as it seemed to bother them more than his others. _The cross?_ he wondered skeptically. _But it's never helped before…_

Then Kurt had to pause in his rant and his thoughts when snapping jaws appeared in front of his face. He grabbed for the thing's throat and dropped to the ground, slamming it's head into the concrete.

Kurt climbed onto its back and attempted to hold him down, wrenching his knife from its shoulder to slam it home again in the middle of his back.

"Do you really, really have to bother me when I've finally met a boy" Stab. "who doesn't think I'm a freak" Stab. "who gave me his number, for Christ's sake-"

Bitey McDentalcare threw Kurt to the ground, and lunged. Kurt met him with a punch to the gut. _Remember what Mom said, never punch a vamp in the face - _and a knee to the chin.

"A cute boy, a gorgeous boy," Kurt kicked the kneeling vamp in the face sending him scrambling. "Who isn't straight!" he shouted, punctuating it with another kick.

Then the vampire took the opportunity to charge and knock Kurt into the wall. Dazed, it took a minute before he registered the vamp running away, and by the time he followed around the building, he was taking off on a motorcycle. Kurt grumbled under his breath and ran for the truck.

Kurt tried to follow, but by the time the pick-up started he had a sizeable head start. He had lost the vamp in rush-hour traffic in downtown Westerville, when he finally gave up.

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><p>Everyone else was out when Kurt came home, Burt likely with Carole or at the shop, and Finn probably still at glee club. He was free to stomp down the stairs and mope about his bloody jacket and his ruined coffee and the fact that he never had to run off and fight a vampire when he was doing something tedious like pretending to enjoy football.<p>

Kurt pulled the crumpled receipt from his pocket and smoothed it out, relieved that it hadn't been lost or covered in blood or something equally ridiculous.

Smiling a bit, Kurt put the number into his contacts and sent Blaine a message.

**'So really, Teenage Dream?'**

**'Shut up!'**


	3. Chapter 3

Finally, an update! I can no longer claim this is going to follow the Glee plot at all, as I cannot remember what happened in these episodes. Speaking of things I cannot claim, I do not own Glee or it's characters.

This chapter, in keeping with the tradition of this fic, was written in between paragraphs of a school essay! Neither turned out very coherent! Enjoy!

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><p><strong>'How's it going?'<strong>

**'Alright. You?'**

**'Good. Karofsky?'**

Kurt's phone clattered to the floor as the aforementioned ape shoved him into a row of lockers. _Karofsky? Same old, same old, _he thought bitterly.

_I've killed things,_ he reminded himself. _Karofsky would wet his pants if he had to face down a mouth full of pointy leech teeth._ Somehow, that mantra failed to squash the squirrelly pit of fear in his stomach.

It also didn't help that the other people in the halls continued to march by like the brainless cattle they were. Everyone notices the gay kid with the high voice, weird (fabulous and only a bit deadly) clothes, and the totally deserved superior attitude up until the second someone decides to rough him up. _God forbid they put themselves in the line of fire,_ Kurt thought bitterly.

Even the teachers looked the other way. Not fifty feet away was his tenth-grade English teacher, who'd patted his shoulder when he handed in his final and smiled at him in the halls. She seemed incredibly amazed by whatever papers a dense looking Cheerio was handing her, her eyes fixed anywhere but on him.

Kurt got to his feet gracefully and saved his phone from being crushed by the ugliest pair of gladiator sandals he'd ever seen. He looked at the screen and replied to Blaine's text without thinking.

'Worse.'

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><p>"I just think you should stand up to him, Kurt," Blaine said, gesturing with his half-empty coffee. Kurt rolled his eyes as a few Lima Bean patrons looked up to see what the outburst was about.<p>

"And I just think that standing up to two thousand pound walking boulders is bad for my health."

"I don't want you to fight him, it's just…" Blaine trailed off with a sad look, and Kurt's eyes widened a bit. _Where the hell did you get those puppy dog eyes?_

"When I left my school… I ran, Kurt. I let them chase me away and I've regretted it since. I'm not saying you should fight him, that would be ridiculous. Just… don't let him get away with it, maybe if you show this guy that you're not just a punching bag he'll back off."

Kurt frowned and tried to picture himself actually standing up to Karofsky. The mental image of the giant being eviscerated by his incredible wit was alluring. He smiled and shook his head. "I don't know, Blaine. Maybe."

"You just have to be brave, Kurt," Blaine insisted.

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><p>Kurt couldn't shake Blaine's words from the coffee shop. He sat in his room staring at a picture of his mother on the wall, lost in a hazy memory of her saying something like that to him. "What a brave boy," maybe, as she ruffled his hair.<p>

Restless, Kurt got up and shifted his bed. He reached behind the headboard and pulled an old leather journal from the spot he'd taped it in.

Kurt flipped through pages of charts, diagrams, and fluctuating penmanship. The notebook had been passed down from one slayer to another until it ended up at the bottom of a chest of his mother's clothes.

The beginning was mostly about how to recognize a vamp and which myths about them were true. Then people began adding in things about how to scare them off, how to fight them. His mother had added only one sentence while she'd had it - _Stakes are messy, but the easiest way to dispatch a vampire._

Kurt read through the book, even though he had long since memorized it, until the familiar routine lulled him to sleep.

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><p><strong>COURAGE<strong>

Kurt smiled at the text message despite himself and took a deep breath. _Right. Courage._


	4. Chapter 4

Back to my tradition of writing while impaired, it is finals week. No comment.

I own Glee like I own a 4.0 (which is to say, I do not.)

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><p>"You don't have to worry about it Karofsky, because you are <em>nowhere near<em> my type. You're just a brainless giant who gets his kicks picking on people one third his size. Ten years from now I'll have a life and you'll be well on your way to balding and trying to find a hot cousin to take to our class reunion so no one knows how much of a failure you are!"

Kurt had planned this out before hand, but now that he was actually confronting Karofsky words just seemed to burst out of him. He was sure his face was red from shouting, and Karofsky was pale and shaking, and looked about ready to kill him.

_Thanks for the advice, Blaine. It's looking great, _he thought, as the football player's hand extending toward his head.

Instead of the blow Kurt expected, Karofsky pulled his head forward and then his lips were pressed to Kurt's. Kurt felt bile rise in his throat, but he was totally frozen with shock. Finally Karofsky pulled away and looked at him desperately. Kurt tried to work his mouth open to say something but Karofsky was moving back toward him and then Kurt's knuckles hurt and Karofsky wiped blood from his nose and ran away.

Kurt went home in a daze, ignored several texts from Blaine, and ended up curled on his bed with the slayer journal in his hands. He stared at the wall for hours on end, trying to forget Karofsky's mouth on his.

He remembered every time Karofsky had slushied him or shoved him in the halls. _Because he has a… some crush on me?_ If that was the reason for the constant harassment, then how bad would he get now that Kurt had rejected him?

Kurt's grip on the journal tightened until his hands hurt. He pushed the thought out of his head and stared at the wall, cycling through anything else to get the thought off his mind. Coffee. Dalton. Blaine. Vampires. Mickey Mouse. Rachel Berry. (_Karofsky._) Texting. Phone Bills. Glee Club. Warblers. Blaine. (_Karofsky._)

Kurt finally fell asleep after half an hour of wracking his mind for something, anything, that didn't remind him of the fact that his first kiss had been someone who terrified him.

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><p>He opened his mouth to reveal shiny, straight teeth. The worst part was the smell of blood, it never really left them. And the teeth, the ones that normal people would sometimes miss but slayers caught immediately. Not just the elongated canines, but the artificial whiteness, the way even molars were sharper than normal. Every bit of that mouth made for draining the life from it's victims.<p>

Kurt patted his pockets but found nothing. No knife, no stakes, not even stupid freaking garlic. The vampire pressed Kurt back into the wall, and Kurt was paralyzed. He couldn't move, couldn't hit or dodge, he was stuck staring straight ahead and watching the horrible fanged mouth advance toward him.

First, Karofsky kissed him, leaving the taste and the scent of blood on Kurt's mouth. Then he tilted his head, pressed his teeth to Kurt's neck, and bit.

Kurt woke without sitting upright, without screaming or his eyes flying open. He just woke up, and then he burst into action. He grabbed his boot and his jacket, tucked the journal inside, and grabbed four stakes from a box under his dresser.

Within minutes he was out of the house and in the streets of Lima. He stumbled onto an empty soccer field, poorly lit by one streetlight. He dimly remembered fighting one there before, but it had gotten away.

_None of them get away. Not tonight._ Kurt swore in his head, over and over. Something in his mind screamed out for violence, and Kurt was happy to oblige it. He could sense them at the edge of the clearing.

"I haven't got all fucking night!" he yelled, echoing through the field and the parking lot.

A figure darted out of the shadows. They ran faster, but not fast enough that Kurt didn't notice.

"Well, well," it growled, trying for suave. Kurt grit his teeth. "if it isn't-"

The vampire trailed off as it died. Kurt pulled the stake from it's chest and glared into the darkness.

"Who's next?"


	5. Chapter 5

I think I should have mentioned at some point that Kurt is not a Buffy Summers type vampire slayer because I do not watch Buffy. I have a very loose mythology set up for this story, mostly because I wanted Kurt to stab things. (Can you blame me?)

So this chapter is finally up, because I never procrastinate ever. Sorry.

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><p>They didn't burn in the sun, the stories had that bit wrong. When they were killed, they burned up, almost instantly, from the inside. After two hours standing in that soccer field, Kurt had bruises, a split lip, and black ashes rubbed into his clothes and stuck under his fingernails. The sun rose and eventually he was left waiting for enemies that weren't coming.<p>

Kurt had been running on adrenaline for a while, and he crashed hard. He dragged himself on tired legs toward the road, hoping he'd make it back home before he passed out from exhaustion. Normally, he thought, someone in this sort of situation would call for help. Kurt thought about his options on that front. There were Burt and Blaine, who would be concerned and confused and betrayed. The idea of Mercedes or Tina picking him up looking like this was laughable.

Kurt's problem was sort of solved when he spotted a familiar figure walking down the street. By the way the mohawk-ed head shot up in his direction, he wasn't the only one surprised to see a fellow Glee member out and about near the crack of dawn.

"Hummel?" Noah, called, confused. Kurt winced. He could already see this not ending well.

As Noah got closer, he saw the state Kurt was in. "Whoa, Kurt!" he said, jogging to Kurt's side of the street. "What the hell happened to you, dude?"

Kurt Hummel, let it be known, did not pass up an opportunity for a good one-liner. He chuckled, looked at Puckerman, and said, "You should see the other guy."

Then he passed out.

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><p>Kurt woke two hours later on a couch in a strange place. As soon as that thought sunk in to his head he sat up and whipped his head around until his memory clicked into place. Then he whipped his head around again, to find Noah Puckerman eating what looked like cold pizza and sitting cross-legged in front of the TV.<p>

"Um," Kurt said, which was definitely the beginning of some wonderful cover story to explain his dirty clothes and bloodied face.

Noah looked up at Kurt and set down his pizza. "Seriously Hummel, what the hell happened to you? You look like shit," he said, tactful as usual.

When Kurt couldn't come up with a good reply, Noah continued. "Was it that Karofsky asshole? 'Cause Finn said he was bothering you. I texted the Glee guys, we could beat the shit out of him," Noah gave a grin that was probably more for possible violence than out of friendship for Kurt. Still, Kurt was shocked that Noah apparently cared at all.

"And what was with the wooden things? You had one in your hand, and then one fell out of your pocket while I was dragging your ass here. Did you stab him? Because that would be badass man, but you don't want to go to prison."

Kurt was fairly sure that the whole situation was some kind of hallucination. He was exhausted and imagining things. And so he couldn't really help the word that half-stumbled out of his mouth. "Vampires," he muttered.

"What?" Noah said, putting the TV on mute.

Kurt gave up. Clearly everything and everyone was insane and he was too tired to lie anymore. "They're stakes, wooden stakes. For killing vampires."

"What, like in the movies?"

"I guess, but that's part of the legend that's actually true. It's the only way I know of to kill a vampire," Kurt shrugged and felt an ache in his shoulders.

"You know you sound crazy, right?" Noah said, looking at Kurt with the same sort of expression as Ms. Pillsbury after he threw up on her shoes.

"Yeah, well, I'm not too concerned with you believing me, Puckerman. I left my house around four in the morning, went to an abandoned field, and spent two hours slaughtering monsters that feed off human blood. I'm not in the mood to act normal."

With that, Kurt collapsed back on the couch. Noah was silent, he could practically hear the gears turning in his head from where he sat on the floor. As he sank gratefully into sleep, Kurt briefly thought that he'd like if someone knew about everything. If it wasn't just him.

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><p>When Kurt woke again, the TV was off and the room was empty. Noah walked in as Kurt was sitting up and plopped down at the other end of the couch. He picks up a stake and flips it in his hand, examining the ashes ground into the wood. Kurt recognizes, with a sickening twist in his stomach, the smug expression he gets when he's telling disgusting stories about forty year old women to the disbelieving boys in glee club.<p>

"So," he says, giving Kurt a grin. "Vampires."

Kurt is waiting for the taunt. But it doesn't come, so he arches one eyebrow at Puck as if to say, _You wanted to go there. _Then he explains.

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><p><strong>Additional author's note: <strong>I knew I wanted a glee clubber to find out about Kurt, but I wasn't sure if it should be Puck or Santana. I ended up with Puck because I used to be a huge Puckurt shipper. (Can you tell?)


	6. Chapter 6

Are people still reading this? If so, you guys are awesome. Honestly, with patience like that, you could be ruling the world right now.

I maybe have a plan for this story? Which includes (I'm estimating here) four more chapters? Don't hold me to that.

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><p>Despite the idea nearly making him sick, Kurt had to go back to McKinley. Not only was there Karofsky, but Puck would be there too. Telling Puck about everything made enough sense at the time, but every second after then he'd been waiting for some kind of reaction, probably in the form of public humiliation. Because he really needs more people harassing him at school.<p>

Kurt didn't tell anyone about what Karofsky did, not even Blaine. He didn't know whether it was because he was intimidated (_stupid_, his rational mind told him, to no avail) or because he was ashamed (_more stupid_.) Blaine asked, when Kurt didn't text him again all day, if something had happened. Kurt couldn't tell him, could hardly text him back to lie, and that was probably the worst part about going back. Kurt couldn't text Blaine without thinking about what he wasn't telling him, and Kurt didn't think he could get through without Blaine to talk to.

But Kurt couldn't tell his dad either; he would get upset and storm the school and his _heart_ and Kurt just couldn't. So he had to go back to school on Monday.

Maybe it just the cynic in him talking, but Kurt had a theory that at McKinley things were always at their brightest and most saccharine just before everything went to shit. Monday morning came with a beautiful blue sky, smiling faces, and a text from Rachel asking if he wanted a solo that week. Kurt made sure to wear his combat boots.

It didn't happen until the second half of the day, and then everything went sharply downhill.

Kurt ambled down the hallway as slowly as possible, stretching his bathroom pass for every last minute he could get away from French class and its crew of brain-dead stoners. With the halls empty, he could occasionally pretend he didn't entirely hate school. It was a rare moment of blissful nothing. Until he heard footsteps behind him.

Kurt turned, about to reach for the knife tucked in his boot. (He had learned the hard way not to carry one in his pocket, after a mishap that could have gotten him expelled.) He focused in on his attacker's face… and stopped dead. Because David Karofsky was following him around the school now, in an empty hallway.

The rational part of Kurt's brain tried to tell him he had no reason to be afraid of a high school football player. He'd been ready to kill the boy before he realized who he was, hadn't he? So why couldn't he do something, _anything_, now?

Karofsky glared at Kurt with a look he might have made fun of on anyone else. "Your little boy band keeps harassing me, Hummel. If you said anything to them…"

Kurt didn't like the smirk that came over Karofsky's face as he considered the end of that sentence. He swallowed hard and willed his legs to move. Finally, he got enough control over himself to turn and run around the corner.

When he fully came to his senses, Kurt found himself down the hall by the auditorium. He walked out the nearest door and, suddenly feeling like his legs couldn't hold him up anymore, sunk to the ground. Numbly, he grabbed for his phone and started to dial, hands too shaky to scroll through his contacts.

Blaine answered almost immediately. "Kurt? Kurt, are you all right? You haven't responded to my texts and I thought, after I told you to confront him… what happened?"

It took Kurt a moment to get words from his brain to his mouth. "Blaine," he started. He tilted his head back to the brick wall behind him, breathing carefully around the strange feeling attempting to crush his windpipe. "Friday. I confronted Karofsky," he managed, not able to explain further.

There was silence for a moment while Blaine tried to understand. "God Kurt, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have told you to do that, it obviously went really badly," there was another pause where Kurt couldn't say anything. "Kurt, you don't have to… if you can't tell me right now, you can call me anytime. If you want to tell me. I'll come over, and we can talk. I want to help."

Kurt nodded, even though he knew Blaine couldn't hear. It was comforting enough to hear Blaine worried; it helped Kurt ignore the voice in his head telling him he was stupid and overreacting. "I'll call you later," he said, feeling some of the tension in his body leave. He was worried about telling Blaine, but having someone else to help him figure out how to deal with Karofsky – just having someone who was concerned, actually – helped him relax.

And then, proving Kurt right yet again, McKinley swiftly crushed any happiness Kurt might have had in two strokes.

First, Santana Lopez opened the door, smirked, and said, "Lady Hummel, should you be in class shoring up that superiority complex of yours?"

Second, Kurt heard a barking laugh from a few feet away, and a familiar face emerged from behind a dumpster. Kurt took a moment to place this particular set of red eyes and pearly white fangs.

"Kurt, who the fuck is your stalker friend and why does he look like serial killer Justin Timberlake?"


End file.
